


Bound Feathers

by JoifulDreaming



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:48:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24240826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoifulDreaming/pseuds/JoifulDreaming
Summary: Two feathers: one black, one white.  They were bound together with a bit of thread.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 98





	Bound Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> Someone created [art for this fic](https://akinmytua2.tumblr.com/post/616153779151290368/sushiandstarlight-hed-come-up-to-aziraphales)! I'm still blown away.

He’d come up to Aziraphale’s rarely used bedroom to fetch a book for him. His Angel wouldn’t have a room without books, even in his bedroom. They were in bookcases all around the room and in neat stacks on the floor. He had expected to find them piled on the bed, too, but they weren’t. The blankets and pillows looked fresh and fluffed, the cleanest thing in the room- really in the whole bookshop. It tickled some thought at the back of Crowley’s mind, but he didn’t think on it too hard. Not right now, not while things were… so good.

The world hadn’t ended and neither had their friendship. In fact, it had blossomed in the new stillness. Sometimes they didn’t part for days at a time, and when they did it was with increasing reluctance. Not because they didn’t know when they’d see each other again- tomorrow, always tomorrow- but because they just didn’t want to be away from one another. Not now that they didn’t have to worry about who was watching and what for.

Crowley spent most of his time in the bookshop with Aziraphale, amusing himself while his Angel read or rearranged books or repaired old tomes. He amused himself by mildly annoying the few customers that traipsed through the store. Some staring that went on a little too long or a little bit of demonic miracle to make their shoe laces keep coming untied. Aziraphale scoffed, but Crowley knew that under it he was amused, too. The bastard was glad he didn’t have to scare the customers off himself if Crowley was there.

He used a demonic miracle to find the book since he never would have found it in the stacks that Aziraphale claimed were organized in a very specific way (he suspected they were organized by chaos). Book in hand, he was turning to leave when he noticed a glint of black and white on the bureau.

There, laying inside a porcelain dish were two feathers: one black, one white. They were bound together with a bit of thread. He stared at them for a long moment, only being able to come to one conclusion: that was one of his feathers, bound to one of Aziraphale’s.

“Crowley, I have explained how to find- oh.” Aziraphale was standing in the doorway now as Crowley looked up.

“That’s one of mine.” He pointed.

“Yes, dear.”

“And one of yours.”

“Yes.”

“Bound.”

“Well, yes.”

“You know,” Crowley swallowed, looking back at the feathers, “one could get some ideas from something like that.”

“I had hoped so.”

Crowley looked back at him sharply. Aziraphale crossed the room and picked up the bound feathers, stroking them gently. Crowley swallowed again, suppressing a shiver at the thought of Aziraphale stroking his still-attached feathers. Was that something they could do now? Could they groom one another’s feathers? His fingers itched to finally touch his Angel’s wings. They would be so soft, he just knew it.

“Hoped so?” He couldn’t make assumptions here, even as his heart raced. Things had been good, he didn’t want to muck it up with assumptions or questions. But, really, you had to indulge one or the other.

“I’ve had these since the beginning, Crowley. You dropped one up on the wall- it was a breezy day, wasn’t it? And I… well, when I dropped one myself… I thought, well, yours shouldn’t be alone. They should be together.” Aziraphale’s eyes were shining now as he looked at the feathers in his palm.

“You didn’t want a dismembered part of me to be lonely.”

“Oh, really, don’t say it like that!” Aziraphale said it acerbically, but Crowley could see the relief that the very serious mood had been broken, lightened a bit.

“I’m only kidding, Angel. It’s sweet.” Crowley reached out and stroked the feathers, while keeping his eyes on Aziraphale’s face. There was a longing there that he was afraid of sharing.

“Oh, this is…” Crowley grabbed him in a hug and, after a moment’s pause, Aziraphale returned it, melting in to his arms. “Thanks for keeping it safe, Angel.” For keeping me safe, he thought. He stroked his hand up Aziraphale’s back right to where he knew the angel’s wings were hidden and rubbed there, gently. And he was rewarded: Aziraphale squeaked and his wings spilled out in to the room.

“May I?”

“Whatever you like, dearest,” Aziraphale was nuzzling his neck now. Nuzzling. His neck. Crowley’s brain short-circuited, but not before he heard the -est in dearest. He reached out with one hand and buried his fingers in the plumage closest to Aziraphale’s back, feeling the feathers under his fingers ripple with a shiver. There was no touching in Heaven. There was no _good_ touching in Hell. Aziraphale and Crowley had been amongst humans from the beginning and, with humans, touch was a way of bonding- every bit as real and tangible as a bit of thread wrapped around feathers.

“Oh, please don’t stop…” Crowley chuckled at the words mumbled against his neck.

“Angel, you’d have to beat my off with a stick to get my hands out of your feathers right now.”

Aziraphale lifted his head and met Crowley’s eyes for a moment before pulling away. Crowley might’ve thought he’d over-stepped if not for that moment of eye contact. Instead, he waited patiently.

“I wouldn’t want these to get crushed.” Aziraphale crossed the room and laid the feathers back in the dish on the bureau, taking a moment to fuss until they were back in exactly the right spot. Fussy angel… His, _his_ fussy angel.

“Crushed, hmm?”

“Yes.” In a blink Aziraphale was behind him, his hands pressing warmly in to the small of his back and spreading up, up until- ah, Crowley would say he released his wings, but that would imply some kind of control.

“Beautiful.” Aziraphale stroked along the upper edge of Crowley’s right wing, “And don’t you grumble at me, I know beautiful things when I see them.”

Crowley turned suddenly, framing Aziraphale’s face with his hands and kissing him with more gentle care than his sudden movements would imply. It was a chaste kiss, really, but such a long time in coming. Aziraphale returned the press of lips, sliding his fingers back up in to Crowley’s feathers, caressing them as they pulled apart.

“You wanted me to find the feathers.”

Aziraphale didn’t answer, but the smirk in his eyes told Crowley everything he needed to know. He backed up slowly and turned to look at the freshly made bed and then back at Crowley, eyebrow cocked in question. As if that was an invitation that Crowley could refuse.


End file.
